Troilus and Cressida

By William Shakespeare

Troilus and Cressida is a tragedy by William Shakespeare, believed to have been written in 1602. The play (also described as one of Shakespeare's problem plays) is not a conventional tragedy, since its protagonist (Troilus) does not die. The play ends instead on a very bleak note with the death of the noble Trojan Hector and destruction of the love between Troilus and Cressida. Throughout the play, the tone lurches wildly between bawdy comedy and tragic gloom, and readers and theatre-goers have frequently found it difficult to understand how one is meant to respond to the characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JH
• Release date: Mar 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9788832563917

William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare is widely regarded as the greatest playwright the world has seen. He produced an astonishing amount of work; 37 plays, 154 sonnets, and 5 poems. He died on 23rd April 1616, aged 52, and was buried in the Holy Trinity Church, Stratford.

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Troilus and Cressida

William Shakespeare

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THE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

by William Shakespeare

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

PRIAM, King of Troy

    His sons:

  HECTOR

  TROILUS

  PARIS

  DEIPHOBUS

  HELENUS

MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam

    Trojan commanders:

  AENEAS

  ANTENOR

  CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks

  PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida

  AGAMEMNON, the Greek general

  MENELAUS, his brother

    Greek commanders:

  ACHILLES

  AJAX

  ULYSSES

  NESTOR

  DIOMEDES

  PATROCLUS

  THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek

  ALEXANDER, servant to Cressida

  SERVANT to Troilus

  SERVANT to Paris

  SERVANT to Diomedes

  HELEN, wife to Menelaus

  ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector

  CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess

  CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants

SCENE: Troy and the Greek camp before it

PROLOGUE TROILUS AND CRESSIDA PROLOGUE

    In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece

    The princes orgillous, their high blood chaf'd,

    Have to the port of Athens sent their ships

    Fraught with the ministers and instruments

    Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore

    Their crownets regal from th' Athenian bay

    Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made

    To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures

    The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,

    With wanton Paris sleeps-and that's the quarrel.

    To Tenedos they come,

    And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge

    Their war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains

    The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch

    Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,

    Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,

    And Antenorides, with massy staples

    And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,

    Sperr up the sons of Troy.

    Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits

    On one and other side, Troyan and Greek,

    Sets all on hazard-and hither am I come

    A Prologue arm'd, but not in confidence

    Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited

    In like conditions as our argument,

    To tell you, fair beholders, that our play

    Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,

    Beginning in the middle; starting thence away,

    To what may be digested in a play.

    Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are;

    Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

ACT I. SCENE 1. Troy. Before PRIAM'S palace

Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS

  TROILUS. Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again.

    Why should I war without the walls of Troy

    That find such cruel battle here within?

    Each Troyan that is master of his heart,

    Let him to field; Troilus, alas, hath none!

  PANDARUS. Will this gear ne'er be mended?

  TROILUS. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,

    Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;

    But I am weaker than a woman's tear,

    Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,

    Less valiant than the virgin in the night,

    And skilless as unpractis'd infancy.

  PANDARUS. Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part,

    I'll not meddle nor make no farther. He that will have a cake

    out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.

  TROILUS. Have I not tarried?

  PANDARUS. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.

  TROILUS. Have I not tarried?

  PANDARUS. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.

  TROILUS. Still have I tarried.

  PANDARUS. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word

    'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating

    of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too,

    or you may chance to burn your lips.

  TROILUS. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,

    Doth lesser blench at suff'rance than I do.

    At Priam's royal table do I sit;

    And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts-

    So, traitor, then she comes when she is thence.

  PANDARUS. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her

    look, or any woman else.

  TROILUS. I was about to tell thee: when my heart,

    As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,

    Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,

    I have, as when the sun doth light a storm,

    Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile.

    But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness

    Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

  PANDARUS. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's-well,

    go to- there were no more comparison between the women. But, for

    my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it,

    praise her, but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as

    I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but-

  TROILUS. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus-

    When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown'd,

    Reply not in how many fathoms deep

    They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad

    In Cressid's love. Thou answer'st 'She is fair'-

    Pourest in the open ulcer of my heart-

    Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,

    Handlest in thy discourse. O, that her hand,

    In whose comparison all whites are ink

    Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure

    The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense

    Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'st me,

    As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;

    But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,

    Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me

    The knife that made it.

  PANDARUS. I speak no more than truth.

  TROILUS. Thou dost not speak so much.

  PANDARUS. Faith, I'll not meddle in it. Let her be as she is: if

    she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the

    mends in her own hands.

  TROILUS. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus!

  PANDARUS. I have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of

    her and ill thought on of you; gone between and between, but

    small thanks for my labour.

  TROILUS. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? What, with me?

  PANDARUS. Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as

    Helen. An she were not kin to me, she would be as fair a Friday

    as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not an she were a

    blackamoor; 'tis all one to me.

  TROILUS. Say I she is not fair?

  PANDARUS. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay

    behind her father. Let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her

    the next time I see her. For my part, I'll meddle nor make no

    more i' th' matter.

  TROILUS. Pandarus!

  PANDARUS. Not I.

  TROILUS. Sweet Pandarus!

  PANDARUS. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all

    as I found it, and there an end.

                                    Exit. Sound alarum

  TROILUS. Peace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds!

    Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,

    When with your blood you daily paint her thus.

    I cannot fight upon this argument;

    It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.

    But Pandarus-O gods, how do you plague me!

    I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;

    And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo

    As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.

    Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,

    What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?

    Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl;

    Between our Ilium and where she resides

    Let it be call'd the wild and wand'ring flood;

    Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar

    Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

Alarum. Enter AENEAS

  AENEAS. How now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield?

  TROILUS. Because not there. This woman's answer sorts,

    For womanish it is to be from thence.

    What news, Aeneas, from the field to-day?

  AENEAS. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.

  TROILUS. By whom, Aeneas?

  AENEAS. Troilus, by Menelaus.

  TROILUS. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn;

    Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn.

[Alarum]

  AENEAS. Hark what good sport is out of town to-day!

  TROILUS. Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.'

    But to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither?

  AENEAS. In all swift haste.

  TROILUS. Come, go we then together.

Exeunt

ACT I. SCENE 2. Troy. A street

Enter CRESSIDA and her man ALEXANDER

  CRESSIDA. Who were those went by?

  ALEXANDER. Queen Hecuba and Helen.

  CRESSIDA. And whither go they?

  ALEXANDER. Up to the eastern tower,

    Whose height commands as